


Budding

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Friends to Lovers, M/M, flower shop au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean's POV. Marco and Jean have part time jobs at a flower shop and in the weeks leading up to prom, something changes in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! My tumblr is metasepiapfefferi, but that's hard to spell. Asks to coliei will also get to me.

“Hey there, Jean, Marco, what’s new? Got my pansies ready to go?”

“Sure, Mrs. H, lemme grab them from the back.”

Jean put down the scissors and stems he was snipping, danced around Marco, and grabbed the arrangement of pansies with a blue ribbon tied around them.

“Here, you know the drill, make sure you keep them in the sun! And away from those little monsters of yours.”

“Thank you, Jean!” Mrs. Hanji beamed. “I know Bean won’t like the smell of these, but I don’t know about any of the others…” Waving goodbye, she pulled the door shut behind her, the bell softly ringing in the spring breeze.

“Hey, Jean?” Marco called. “Can you finish with these stems? I refilled the floral tape supply, so you can just do the entire job. I have to start on these corsages… Prom season is so tiring.”

“Ugh, sure, but you know how I am with the tape. Budget some time to untangle me, wouldja?”

Smiling, Marco went back to artfully arranging roses and greenery. Jean was shit at the artsy part of flower arranging, but he could stick daffodils in a vase just fine, and seemed to have a knack for keeping the more delicate plants alive. He was fine doing the dirty work at the florists’ shop and leaving the beauty to Marco. He watched Marco’s hands dance across the table, placing sprigs of a tinsely material among the natural beauty of the roses. Jean checked the order slips on the other side of the counter, and frowned. Twenty-six orders for corsages and boutonnieres, and prom at their school was still weeks away! Sighing, Jean picked up the top order and started to find the materials. At least he could make Marco’s job slightly easier. That kid worked too hard. Jean had tried to get him to cut loose a bit, come get burgers with Connie and Sasha, but Marco declined, saying he was too busy here with all the orders coming in. Jean’s thoughts drifted back to prom. Was Marco even going? Who would he even ask? He never showed interest in any of the girls in their Bio or Chem classes, but then again, Jean didn’t either. None of them were even remotely attractive. Come to think of it, there were just not many cute girls at their school. There was Mikasa, sure, but she was terrifying. Jean hadn’t considered for one instant asking her to go. Maybe he’d just go with friends. He could get Connie and Sasha to go, but then he’d be third wheeling the whole night. Maybe Marco could go with them..?

“Hey, uh, Marco.”  
“Hmm?” Marco glanced up, saw the white orchids and pink ribbons in Jean’s hands, and grinned.

“Oh, thanks, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to go digging in those boxes of ribbon--”

“D’you wanna go to the prom with me?” Jean blurted. “Uh, I mean, with me’n a group of friends. Like, Sasha? And Connie?”

The two boys stared at each other, Marco turning pinker than the ribbons, when the bell on the door jingled with its closing.

“So, it’s true! Jean is a sissy that asks boys to prom!” A smirking head appeared over the counter.

“Ooh, and you got your boyfriend _flowers_ , too! How cute,” Eren simpered. Jean’s face grew red,  a deeper, angrier shade than Marco’s.

“Shut UP, Jaeger!” he growled, hastily dumping the orchids on the counter. “If you were listening at all, you know I misspoke and—“

“Yeah, whatever. You still work at this stupid flower shop. I guess all the fairy dust around would eventually rub off.”  
Jean almost flew over the counter at his rival, but a hand closed around his wrist.  
“Eren, if you’re not going to buy something, could you please leave? We’re really busy with prom soon, and wedding season is starting, plus people are going to forget mothers’ day next week so we have to prepare for that, too.”

As Marco walked to the register, he whispered to Jean, “Don’t make a scene. He’s still a customer. We can pretend the dying flowers are his face and stomp on them out back later.” Finally letting go of Jean’s wrist, he flashed a quick smile, then went to take Eren’s order.

Jean sat in the back, furiously slicing the stems off carnations, fuming at how his day had gone to shit. He hadn’t even gotten an answer out of Marco, either. Eren had completely ruined his chances of… what, exactly? Why was he so mad that Marco was probably going to turn him down? Before he could answer himself, a hand appeared on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry that Eren had to come in and be a jerk. I told him to pick up his order during someone else’s shift, if that’s any consolation.”

Jean buried his head in his hands and exhaled. At least that was something. Still no mention of his offer, though. _Why do I even care?_

“Er, Jean? Are you in any condition to keep working?” Marco gestured to the carnations, and Jean realized he had been cutting the stems too short and ripping petals off in frustration.

“Dammit,” Jean groaned, “I’ll clean this up and fix it.”

“Seriously, you don’t have to. I can finish up here.”

“You sure?” Marco gave him a crooked smile, which Jean interpreted as a yes. “Fine, but let me clean up. Please.”

After sweeping off the mangled flowers into the trash can, Jean took off his apron and headed for the door.

“Oh, by the way, I’d love to come.”

Jean turned. Marco surely didn’t mean prom with him. _And Sasha and Connie_ , he reminded himself.

“Huh?”

“Prom. With you and friends. It sounds delightful, actually! Just don’t make me get a boutonniere. I am completely sick of them.” Marco’s eyes twinkled, and Jean was momentarily dazzled by the pools of rich sienna.

“Um, yeah, okay. No boutonniere. Sure,” Jean stammered. “Erm, see you tomorrow, I guess.” He closed the door, still dumfounded by his coworker.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanji is nuts and so are Jean's dreams. Marco stays late. NSFW.

“Hiya, boys! Sawney trampled the flowers. Don’t suppose you have any peonies left? Maybe he’ll leave those alone.”

“Gimme a sec to check, Mrs. Hanji.” Jean knew that almost half their offseason business came from Mrs. Hanji, but he still found it weird to interact with her normally. He had heard that she lived alone with her cats (who she frequently alluded to in normal conversation—who DOES that?), and she was in general a nutbag. He remembered snickering with Marco out back after she came in one day with half of the hair on her head sticking up. As he passed Marco working on more boutonnieres, he whispered, “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you ask how her cats are doing.” Marco chuckled as Jean grabbed a bouquet of peonies from the refrigerator.

“Here you are, Mrs. H, and Marco would be happy to ring you up,” Jean chirped, giving Marco a cheeky grin. Marco sighed good naturedly, his cheeks swelling into a smile below his freckles. Jean realized that they were almost the same shade as the flecks of lighter brown in his deep, beautiful eyes… Beautiful? _No way. They’re just a really rich color. That’s it._ Before he could dwell any more on the subject, Marco’s voice jolted him back to reality.

“$12.56. By the way, Mrs. Hanji, how many cats are you up to now? Nine? Do they all get along?”

“Hmm? Cats? Who told you I have cats? I have nine TITANS, Marco. How could you even confuse them with cats?”  
Marco and Jean exchanged a look. This was something the rumors had not mentioned.

“Forgive me for asking, Mrs. H, but what exactly are titans? Are they a breed, or..?” Jean wondered.

“Oh, no, they’re like humans, but they range from seven feet to forty feet tall! I only have one forty footer. He’s quite something!” Laying a ten and a five on the counter, Hanji scooped up her flowers, sang a “goodbye!” and bounced out the door, leaving Marco and Jean dumbfounded. As the bell chimed, peals of laughter from the two created a cacophony.

“She… She thinks there’s giants in her house!” Jean guffawed.

“No, no, Jean, _titans_ ,” Marco gasped, then relapsed into giggles. He started pounding his fist on the counter, tears leaking from his eyes, and Jean leaned his head against Marco’s shoulder, too weak from laughter to support it on his own. As he calmed down, he noticed the usual sharp green smell of cut stems had been mellowed by something more soothing, almost like a spicy vanilla. He realized his nose was right next to Marco’s arm. Damn, this boy had eyes like melting chocolate and smelled like a pie baking…

Before he could pull himself together, a “Hey, Marco, you smell really awesome,” slipped out of his mouth. _Whoa there, Jean, where did that come from?_ Frowning, he quickly pulled away to be met by a strange look from the other boy.

“Erm, thank you?” Marco replied, still eyeing Jean questioningly, a hint of warmth seeping into his cheeks. Great. Now Jean had to go and make everything awkward. Maybe this flower shop business was starting to make him into a princess like Eren had suggested.

“Sorry… I’ll just go and start on these corsages…”

The boys worked in silence for the rest of the evening, an awkward aura having settled over the room. As the end of the shift approached, Jean started to tidy his workstation, but Marco showed no signs of stopping.

“Hey, it’s 7:30 already… I’m gonna head out, kay? Aren’t you going to, too? Shift’s over…”

“What? Oh, sorry, no, I’m gonna stay late today. Lots to do.” Marco waved a hand airily at the tinsel covered counter, a blush creeping across his face for some reason. “Prom’s too soon.”

“Right. Hey, you’re still planning on coming with me n’the gang, right?”

“Oh, er, yeah,” Marco said uncomfortably.

“Well, that’s cool…” Jean trailed off. A heavy silence fell, neither one looking at the other.

“Not to change the subject or anything”, Marco hastily spurted (Jean had a suspicion that’s exactly what he intended) “but I did ask about Mrs. H’s pets… Don’t you owe me a twenty?”

“Oh, shit. I forgot!” Jean scrambled to dig his wallet out of his pants. As he pulled it out, he remembered with a sinking feeling he had spent his entire last paycheck on gas.

“I have three dollars in here… Could you, like, take a raincheck or something? Whatever that is?”  
“Um, isn’t prom the day after payday? You might need money for that… You could pay for my dinner then, maybe, if that’s cool?”

Now Jean felt the back of his neck grow hot. Like a date? No, he owed Marco, and it made sense, right? Not a date. Just four people going to prom together and one happened to be paying for the other’s dinner…

“Um, okay. Ishouldgetgoingbye,” Jean blurted, and practically ran out the door. Marco continued to arrange flowers, long fingers winding ribbon as red as his face.

\------

Back at home, Jean gulped down his dinner and ran upstairs. This was getting weird. He did favors for friends all the time, right? He had made a stupid bet and now had to do a favor. What’s so different? Scowling, he threw open his precalc book, jammed his headphones on, and set to work.

\---

Two hours, twenty five problems, and one short paragraph later, Jean still felt off. His stupid emotions were still all over the place and fucking confusing. _Damn hormones._ He shut down the computer, and decided to just rub one out already. His body wanted hormones? He’d give it hormones. He turned out the light, peeled off his shirt, and scrabbled around in the sock drawer for the bottle of lube while he undid his pants with the other hand. With a sigh, he sank back on his bed, bracing for the cold of the lotion, and with a groan slicked up his dick. He started to sweat, pumping faster to get himself hard. Panting, he reached for the tissue box, and within a few minutes came with a grunt, relishing the cool that washed over him as he released himself. With some of the tension from work relieved, he flushed the sticky tissues down the toilet, pulled a fresh pair of shorts on, and fell into bed.

            Unfortunately, the emotional distress returned in his dreams. He was sprinting towards something, and absolutely _had_ to get to wherever he was going on time. The world would end if he didn’t, but he kept tripping over thickets of roses. Finally, he stumbled into a clearing, and knew this was where he was supposed to be. A buck the size of a horse stood on the other side, light freckles of cream dappling its deep sepia coat, and small, fuzzy horns that had just sprouted. It stared into Jean with its chocolate eyes flecked with russet, and in a silky voice asked, “Could you pay for my dinner instead?” Before Jean could answer, it bounded away into the rose thicket, which now included giant-ass trees to dodge. Great. Jean stumbled after it, cursing at his scrapes, and then the dream changed.

            He was engulfed in darkness. Jean could smell spicy vanilla, and knew someone else was there by the heavy breathing, like they had been working out. He felt fingers ghost across his stomach, as soft as lily petals, and realized with a jolt he was not wearing any clothes. Something warm, wet, and slightly rough circled his navel, and as Jean gasped it moved southward, grazing along where his pants would start. He felt a mouth planting kisses on his inner thigh, and instinctively reached down to guide the person because hey, they were doing a good job turning him on so far, right? He momentarily caught soft, short hair, then long fingers caught his and moved them away. A tongue suddenly ran along the base of his cock and as he gasped, a tiny spark of light appeared in the dark. As Jean shivered, the tongue lapped at his balls, then licked upwards again, and two more pinpricks appeared, like stars, or maybe fireflies. Jean didn’t care. The stranger rubbed a thumb along the base of the head, and Jean closed his eyes, enjoying the stimulation by someone else for once. A burst of light appeared from behind his eyelids as a mouth engulfed his dick, taking it in entirely. They bobbed their head, and Jean saw fireworks through his closed eyes. He began to squirm, and the stranger slowed their pace. “Don’t stop,” Jean muttered. “Please. It feels so wonderful.” He thought he felt a smile curl the lips around his shaft, and let out a strangled moan as the stranger _swallowed_ him. Their pace quickened, a hand joining pumping lips, and soon Jean was holding back an orgasm. As he came, the mouth and hand pulled back. Jean opened his eyes as he rode out the waves of pleasure, and saw Marco Bodt, surrounded by as many twinkling lights as there were freckles on his face, proudly looking up at him, hair disheveled, face flushed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get weird and Marco gets Jean's number

Jean woke up to find the front of his shorts sticky with semen. Awesome. Nothing he didn’t really expect, though, after that dream…

_Oh, shit. That dream._

Jean brought his hands up to tug at his hair, sitting up under the covers. Why was he having these thoughts about his coworker? Weren’t dreams supposed to reflect, like, your deepest desires or some dumb shit like that? If so, Jean was totally fucked. The way Marco had looked so goddamn _proud_ of himself after giving him the best unconscious orgasm ever… Damn. Jean had to admit that was incredibly hot, even though it was his coworker that would probably never in a million years suck him off. Marco was just his coworker, yeah. His coworker he would have to face in less than twelve hours and spend the evening in a confined room that just set the mood perfectly for lovey dovey shit. Ugh. How was he going to behave normally around Marco? Even if that dream meant nothing to him (which Jean reluctantly admitted wasn’t true), it was always weird to spend time around someone you had strange dreams about. Some situations you could diffuse with a simple, “hey, I had the weirdest dream that you were climbing the Eiffel Tower with me with a chicken on your head,” but this was not one of them. What the heck could he say? “Hey, Marco, last night you and your adorable freckles gave me an awesome blowjob and I would totally be okay if it happened in real life?” Hell no. There was no way Jean could face Marco like this, and his head was beginning to hurt. Remembering chemistry with Marco was his first period, Jean groaned a “fuck it” and rolled back over, waving his mother off fifteen minutes later with claims of a migraine.

Jean spent the day napping and forcing himself to drink water, his head pounding. At around two, his phone buzzed. He rolled over and grabbed it off the bedside table, expecting it to be his mom asking how he was doing and if he needed anything, but he didn’t recognize the number.

 **{Unknown Number}: Hey, you feeling okay?  
** Jean, intrigued, replied, fingers flying across the keyboard.

**You: no, i feel like shit. who is this?**

**{Unknown Number}: Marco Bodt. I got your number off of Sasha, I hope that’s okay.**

Jean groaned. Of course Sasha would give his number out to anyone who asked. Now he had to deal with the source of his hormonal headache.

**Marco: I thought it would be useful for prom planning purposes. Are you coming in to work?**

**You: work might make my head explode in a floral scented catastrophe. so no.**

**Marco: Okay! I get it. You don’t feel good, haha** **J**

_Of course Marco uses smiley faces when he texts._

**Marco: But actually, we missed you today. Feel better, yeah? And when can we plan dinner? You still owe me ;)**

Shit, was Marco _flirting_ with him? Why did he have to be so perfect? His freckles, impeccable grammar, and that fucking winky face were too much for Jean to handle with his headache and recent dream. _Fuck it,_ Jean thought

**You: hell yeah i do. hows a nice candlelit dinner for two sound? saxophones in the background… i know a good place to find roses**

Jean held his breath. _Please don’t let him take that seriously oh gosh that would be horrible in the leasthorriblewaypossiblewaitwhat?_

**Marco: Hahahahaha I’ll pass.** **J Seriously, though, where should we eat? Connie and Sasha know anywhere good?**

**Marco: And I might need a ride, I think my mom needs the car.**

**You: im leavin the place up to sasha, she knows whats good. i could probably give you a lift if you dont mind a car thats older than we are.**

Jean hoped he was acting normal. Friends gave each other rides all the time. This wasn’t a date if two others were going, right? Just a group of friends and two of them would carpool. Don’t read too much into it.

**Marco: All right, thanks so much!**

**Marco: You think you’ll be in to work tomorrow? Prom’s in four days and I bet we’re going to get a ton of last minute orders. I could use the help.**

Was it really that soon? Jean only had four days to get over his awkwardness? At least he wasn’t thinking about the dream any more, the stupid date jokes had dissipated all his worries about that.

**You: yeah, yeah, we know everyone misses my amazingly attractive persona. stop fainting ladies, jean kirschtein is comin back.**

**You: ill be there. i do NOT wanna be around when Jaeger picks up his flowers though.**

**Marco: Don’t worry, Saturday morning’s covered! I’m looking out for you** **J**

**You: thanks. im gonna go back to sleep. see you at work.**

As Jean dozed off again, his phone buzzed one last time, but he was too close to falling asleep to read the text. He slept through the night, only seeing the text in the morning:

**Marco: Sweet dreams, cupcake!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you get the movie reference, I a. love you forever, and b. share your taste in poor childrens' movies


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is still awkward (though a bit less so), Marco hides things poorly, and texting happens.

As Jean woke on the Thursday before prom, he recalled the conversation he had with Marco yesterday afternoon. Honestly, he was lucky he had kept his head. Now that his headache was gone, he was free to obsess over Marco with his unfogged brain. He vaguely wondered if Marco had texted him again. Not like he was obsessing or anything. He could check _once_ before he headed to school, right? Jean smiled at the “1 new” notification on his screen, opened it, and froze.

**Marco: Sweet dreams, cupcake!**

_Cupcake? That was so a pet name. I am so fucked. He actually likes me. Was I obvious enough to prompt that?_

The cloud of worry descended again as Jean brushed his teeth, pulled on pants, and walked out the door.

            As Jean took his seat in biology, Marco looked up and smiled from across the room. Jean arranged his face in what he sincerely hoped was a normal, not-sultry smirk. As the lesson began, his attention wandered to thoughts of what the hell Marco was playing at. Should he ask about the text last night? Did people actually discuss text messaging in person? Jean couldn’t remember, and was debating himself on the subject when he was jolted back to earth by a ripple of sounds as everyone stood up.

“Um, what’s going on?” He muttered to Connie, who was passing by.

“Are you serious? Mrs. Rall just said. We’re working on the potato lab, like we planned for yesterday.”

 _Oh, right. Potatoes. Joy._ At least it would be a distraction from his thoughts…

… Until Jean ended up in a group of three with Connie and Marco, since he hadn’t been quick enough to find a lab partner on his own.

“Hey, Jean, glad you’re feeling better! Work is going to be nuts. All the guys are getting in last minute corsage orders.”

“Er, yeah. Right. Um, should we go grab a potato?”

“I’ll do it,” volunteered Connie, and he headed towards the crate of tubers leaving Jean standing nervously in the lab area with his sort-of crush.

“So, did you get the movie reference,” inquired Marco.

“Huh?”  
“The movie reference I sent you last night. ‘Sweet dreams, cupcake’?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. What’s that from again?” Jean stammered, feeling a heat creep up the back of his neck. Marco’s freckles were framed so nicely by the round cheeks smiling.

“Night of the Museum! I don’t blame you for not getting it, it came out when we were in sixth grade or something like that.”

“Ah.” Jean mentally flailed for something to say other than “I want to kiss all those freckles then fuck you so hard over the lab bench there are going to be hazardous spills”. He thankfully spotted Connie moving towards them.   
“Hey, Connie’s got the goods, we should probably start, yeah?”

“Oh, sure! So the first step is the sugar solution, right?”  
As they moved through the lab, Jean kept mostly silent, trying to focus on the potato and not work or prom.

\---

Jean waltzed into the flower shop a tad late for his shift. He’d had to meet with his teachers after school to catch up on the work he missed the day before. As he grabbed an apron, he noticed Marco desperately trying to shove something in the cold case.

“Hey, you need a hand there?”  
“Ah! Jean! No, no, it’s fine,” Marco hurriedly stammered, stashing his load in the case and slamming the door. “Really, I’ve got it, thanks. Could you, uh, grab some white roses? I’m trying to finish everything thorny tonight so we won’t prick ourselves hurrying tomorrow. There’s some orders for white boutonnieres you could fill,” he rambled on, face flustered and pink.

“All right, I’ll grab the flowers. But you gotta tell me what you put in the case. Did you find a date for Saturday? You make her something special?” Jean forced a smirk, feeling very put out that this was probably the case.

“N-No! Didn’t ask a girl out!” Marco blushed even deeper. “Gonna go get more tinsel,” he muttered, and made a dash for the storage closet. Jean decided he may as well peek at what Marco had hidden so not-well-at-all (the cold case had glass panes. Seriously? You couldn’t call that hiding). Upon closer inspection, though, he saw it was just a few white orchids in a box, not even taped into a form. Maybe he was taking them home for his mom or something. Jean couldn’t understand why he wanted to hide them so bad, though… At least Marco was still (probably) not taking a girl to prom. Jean might explode with jealousy if he had to watch them eat dinner together.

“Hey, Jean! I need those roses!”

“Ah, I’m on it!”

They spent the rest of the shift in silence, Jean relieved yet still nervous to be around Marco with the aroma of flowers surrounding them. Marco was engrossed in his work, and only addressed Jean when he was running low on materials. At 7:20, as Jean put another boutonierre in the storage refrigerator, Marco absently asked “what time are you picking me up Saturday, and where’s dinner?”

“Er. Dinner. Right. Um.”

Marco turned and waited expectantly, Jean frozen to the spot with his jaw slack.

“F-five thirty okay? The dance starts at 8, so that’s plenty of time for dinner and screwing around” – _oh gosh why did he have to say screwing now that’s all he can think of—_ “beforehand. With Connie n’Sasha.”  
“All right. Um, we have a location yet?”

“I put Sasha on it…” An idea (probably a stupid one) started forming in Jean’s head. “I’ll make her decide tonight. Can I text you when I know the place?”

“Sure.” Marco hastily changed the subject. “It’s 7:29… You gonna take off?”  
“Oh, wow, it is. Yeah, if that’s okay with you. See you tomorrow?”

“Sure, Jean.”  
As Jean walked out, he let out a deep breath, as Marco grabbed the box out of the case behind his back.

\---

8:35

**You: ey, sash, wheres dinner saturday**

**Sasha: I was thinkin we could go to red robin maybe? good for groups, p good food, plus bottomless fries :D**

**You: watever’s good for you**

**You: the one by the skate park right**

**Sasha: sure. Want me to tell connie?**

**You: yeah ill tell marco**

**\---**

**8:52**

**You: hey freckleface**

**You: Sasha wants us to go to red robin**

**You: you down with that**

**9:37**

**You: Marco**

**Marco: Sorry Jean! I just got home!**

**You: our shift ended two hours ago how did that happen dont u live like 10 mins away**

**Marco: I let work pile up on me. I’m finished now, though. Red Robin sounds fine. The one by the skate park?**

**You: yeah**

**You: where do u live again**

**You: cuz im still pickin u up right**

**Marco: Over on Thayer. My house is green and about two blocks north of the playground with the red spiderweb thing.**

**You: alright u should stand and wave or something so i dont miss it**

**Marco: 5:30, right? What are we going to do in between dinner and the actual dance?**

**You: connie n sasha will think of somthin. theres the skate park nearby im sure therell b shenanigans**

**Marco: … Like what? Now I’m skeptical haha**

**You: i have no idea when it comes to those 2**

**Marco: I’m sure whatever happens, we’ll have fun! :)**

**You: yeah**

**You: so you got a lot of hw tonight**

**Marco: Just the lab stuff. I think my hands still smell a bit like potatos heh :)**

**You: yeah me 2.**

**10:18**

**You: Marco?**

**Marco: Sorry! I fell asleep at my desk. It’s been a long day. I should probably go to sleep soon. Talking to you has been fun though! :)**

**You: yeah haha night then?**

**Marco: Good night Jean! Sweet dreams, cupcake ;)**

**You: night marco**

Jean fell asleep still clutching his phone, grinning like an idiot.


	5. Prom night part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Marco go to dinner with Connie and Sasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long one!

At 4:00 on Saturday, Jean was sprawled on his bed in nothing but a towel, hair still dripping. He was going to get yelled at by his mom if she came in and found the sheets getting progressively wetter, but he didn’t care. Jean was having his first ever fashion crisis, and he was pretty sure it was all Marco’s fault.

Earlier, Marco had texted him asking if he was gonna wear a tux or a plain old suit, and Jean had no idea what to answer. A tux just meant a black suit plus a bowtie, right? When he tried to confirm this on the internet, he discovered how wrong he was. Why hadn’t he put more thought into this? He couldn’t wear a tuxedo because he had no way of finding one, but was Marco going to think he didn’t care if he just wore his standard grey jacket and nice shirt? Should he wear a bowtie to make up for that? He was about 60% sure his dad had one somewhere…

After digging through his dad’s closet in his boxers, he found a bowtie. By 4:45, he had managed to look up how to tie it and successfully gotten it around his neck in a somewhat presentable manner. Staring in the mirror, though, he realized he resembled a stripper (probably due more to the lack of pants than anything else), and decided he had to just go with a normal tie. And then proceeded to freak about what color he should wear.

At 5:10, his mom called up “Jean, don’t you have to be at Marco’s at 5:30? Are you ready?”

“Uh.”  
Jean’s mother entered his room to find him surrounded by a dozen ties, still lacking pants (though he had put on a cream button down at least). With a sigh, she pulled a navy tie with small bronze fleur-de-lis embroidered down the front, then pulled his black slacks out of the closet. While Jean wrestled with the tie, his mother departed, promising she’d be back. As he tucked in his shirt, she returned with his father’s black sport jacket and a shiny tawny pocket square that matched the pattern on the tie and his eyes quite well. As Jean shrugged it on (it was a bit loose, but he had grown since his last formal occasion and could fill out the shoulders nicely now), his mother beamed.

“We have to take pictures, sweetie! Marco can’t live far, right? We have time!”  
Jean looked at his watch. It was 5:21.

“Sure, Mom,” he sighed. “Just, can we go quickly? I don’t wanna be late and make him think I forgot.”

After some posing (and sobbing on his mother’s part about how her boy was “all grown up and going to prom and pretty soon he was going to go to _college_ and oh, it’s too much”), Jean was finally pulling out of the driveway at 5:32. Marco in theory lived seven minutes away, but that was assuming Jean could find his house. After turning down Thayer Street, he slowed his ’92 civic to a crawl, searching for a green house.

He saw Marco first, though, wearing (of course) a perfect fitting tuxedo, hair neatly combed, and smile as bright as ever, clutching a small box in his hands.

“Nice car,” Marco smirked as he opened the passenger door. “Can it be a prom chaperone, you know, because it’s ancient?”  
Jean pouted. “My car is not that old! It can legally drink, sure, but it’s only 22. In its prime, really. Besides, it gets amazing mileage. And has character.” Thank goodness he could actually talk coherently to Marco. That bowtie was distracting.

“So, it breaks down every other month?” Marco teased. “Thanks for the ride, by the way. Sorry to impose.”  
“I-it’s fine!” Jean blurted. “Really. Any time.”

Marco settled the box on his lap, and silence fell as they drove towards dinner. “So…” Jean started, making a brilliant attempt at conversation.

“Ummm… how do you think the student council will do with picking a DJ? I heard last year half the kids left at like nine because the music just sucked.”  
“Oh, gosh, I really couldn’t care. As long as it’s got a good beat and isn’t middle school pop-ish. If people start jumping up and down, I’m done.”

Marco laughed. “I know what you mean. I’m not a great dancer, but I’d never resort to that.”  
Another silence fell, but more relaxed.

“So, what’s in that box of yours?”  
“Box? What?” Marco jumped, the tips of his ears turning red. “Oh, nothing important, really.”  
“No, really, what is it? It looks like the boxes we use at the flower shop.”  
“Oh, yeah, I grabbed an extra because why not, you know? How close are we to dinner? I’m starving.” Marco’s voice jumped half an octave and his face flushed a dark red, making his freckles stand out.

“Okay, I won’t ask about the lucky lady,” Jean sighed, more put out that Marco was obviously interested in someone than at his reluctance to reveal the contents of the box.

“Told you, s’not for a girl,” Marco muttered.

“Okay?” Jean would have pressed Marco for more details, but they were pulling in to the Red Robin parking lot. Marco leapt out of the car like it was filled with piranhas the minute it stopped moving. Jean swore. He had managed to make Marco hate him already. This was going just perfectly.

He followed Marco into the restaurant, and glimpsed Connie and Sasha waving furiously from a booth, an empty onion ring stand already on the table.

“Hey, sorry we started without you, Sasha needed onion rings.”   
Sasha tried to say something through a mouthful of breading that sounded to Jean like “I have a MIGHTY NEED.”

“You guys look snazzy,” Connie smirked. He was just in a t-shirt and jeans. “Gonna be super hot in the middle of the dancefloor with those monkey suits.”

Sasha nodded enthusiastically, swallowing. “Did you at least bring stuff to change in? You might be miserable otherwise.”

“I’ll be fine, I don’t usually get in the middle of the dancing anyways,” Marco smiled. “Gosh, I could really use a burger. What’s good?”  
As he scooted into the booth, Sasha started rambling about the merits of the different burgers. Jean sat down next to Marco, but with the box on the far side it was a bit cramped, and their hips ended up touching. Jean blamed the hot feeling creeping up the back of his neck on his “monkey suit.”

Connie leaned across the table. “You know what we should do?” he whispered with a shifty look on his face. “Tell the waiter it’s someone’s birthday. They have to sing and bring you free ice cream.”

“Connie, no. That’s basically stealing.” Marco crossed his arms, a disapproving look on his face.

“Yeah, but it’d be pretty entertaining! Plus ice cream,” Sasha chirped.

“Guys, c’mon. You have enough sugar with those drinks as is,” Jean pointed out, motioning to the syrupy looking drinks Connie had already drank three of. Sasha reacted oddly to Jean’s comment, smacking her forehead.

“Ohmygawd, Connie! We forgot the booze for the punch bowl!”

“Oh no, you’re right!”

“Nooooooooooo” they moaned in unison. Marco giggled. “Are they always like this?”

“Pretty much,” replied Jean.

“Hey, you two won’t mind if we meet you at the dance, will you? The party can’t start till the punch is spiked,” persuaded Connie.

“Well-“  
“Aww, I knew you’d understand, Jean, you’re such a good friend,” simpered Connie, blowing a kiss across the table. Jean glowered. “Later!” he waved, pulling Sasha out of the booth and leaving a twenty on the table.

Marco looked after him incredulously. “What. I can’t believe they just left us like that!”

Jean was more worried about the fact that he was next to Marco in a tight booth and they were  touching and if he didn’t calm down burgers would not be the only thing making an appearance at the table.

“Honestly, that’s pretty typical. You saw how Connie was as a lab partner. Just be glad Sasha wasn’t there too; we would have no potato left to experiment with. She’d do something with the hot plate and the sodium chloride and then eat it.”

“Oh my gosh. Even with the chemicals that have been on the hot plate?”  
“You really think she’d care?” Jean quirked an eyebrow.  
“Oh goodness,” Marco groaned.

“On the plus side, Connie and Sasha leaving means we get to keep our fries when they come.”

Marco grinned, and Jean thought he might pass out from a combination of hunger and adorableness. How could Marco be so friggin’ cute?

“I think ice cream should happen, though, that was a good suggestion, if not a good method to obtain it.”

“Sweet tooth, huh?”

“Maybe a little.” Marco scrunched up his face, thinking. “We could go to Coldstone or Ben & Jerry’s after this… It’s not a cold night, and we’ve got plenty of time before the dance starts.”

“That actually sounds really good. If the food ever gets here.”

Jean found himself at ease making small talk with Marco, despite how warm he felt with their legs touching. Marco made no mention of the empty side of the booth across from them, so he didn’t bring it up. _Why not enjoy it while it lasted, y’know?_

Eventually the topic came back around to their work. “I’m so glad we were able to finish all the arrangements on time. Well, mostly you,” Jean admitted. “I kinda just stood there and was useless. Oh, I yelled at Eren too. That was not useless.”

“Heh! I think he was almost disappointed you weren’t around to fight with this morning when he picked up his flowers.”

“Seems like everyone in school got their flowers from the shop… Everyone but us, I guess.” Jean nodded towards Marco’s empty lapel, smiling, then noticed he had gone red again. “Hey, you okay,” he frowned.

“Y-yeah. Just a bit of indigestion, I think. We ate a lot. You want to walk around before we grab ice cream?”

“Okay,” Jean agreed. Something was definitely up with Marco.

They paid (thankfully Connie’s twenty actually covered the obscene amount of onion rings Sasha had managed to eat), and decided to walk the three blocks to the Ben & Jerry’s, as Jean claimed he had a “personal vendetta against Coldstone.”

“How does that even happen? Did they spit in your ice cream or something,” asked Marco.

“No, I worked for them the summer before Junior year and the manager was just a total bitch. She made me sing the humiliating songs every time someone tipped her, and wouldn’t give me my paycheck? Which was sort of the point of me working in the first place.”  
“Yeah, I could not imagine you working at a cheery ice cream store just for shits and giggles.”

“Hey, was that a bad word? What happened to Mr. Freckled Angel?”  
“Oh, believe me, I am not that innocent. Sometimes, I clear my place after I’m done eating… and make other people do the dishes,” Marco mocked with a serious expression (though he couldn’t stop the corner of his eyes from crinkling).

“My world has been shattered.”

They walked in silence, feeling a bit too fancy for the people that passed them on the street in the fading light. Jean hoped he wouldn’t get ice cream on his tie. He supposed he could always use the dumb pocket square as a napkin, and he picked at it as he walked.

Marco noticed and nudged him. “I actually really like your whole getup. It’s different, you know? I’m not going to stand out much. I think a bunch of the other guys in my choir also wore their performance tuxedos. It was just the easiest route for me.”

“You’re in choir?”

“Yeah, singing has always made me happy. I think it’s because it makes others smile and I can just lose myself in it.”

“Oh.” Jean brooded. “I’ve never done any music shit.”

“I’m not a virtuoso by any means! I can barely read music, actually,” Marco admitted, bringing his box-free hand to rub against his neck. “I actually feel guilty as a choir kid getting ice cream because it’s supposed to be bad for your voice and all, heh.” He gestured towards the Ben & Jerry’s across the street. “Shall we?”

“Okay, but don’t feel too guilty. We’re supposed to have fun tonight, right?”  
“Thanks, Jean,” Marco smiled.

Jean grinned back, finally feeling like the evening could be relaxed and not at all awkward. He held the door open for Marco as they walked into the shop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with how this concluded, so hopefully there'll be another chapter up soon to make it less awkward.  
> As always, I'm on tumblr as metasepiapfefferi. Feel free to shoot me an ask!


	6. Prom night part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The actual dance, and some pictures.

As they walked out of the shop holding their ice cream (Jean swore that potato chips were a great idea to put in chocolate ice cream while Marco eyed the cone full of Late Night Snack with distaste, scooping at his own Cookie Dough), Jean realized he was actually calm. No jitters about Marco judging his outfit, no awkward boners with some leg touching, just relaxed, easy conversation with the cute guy with the freckles. As they walked down the street savoring their treats, Jean realized something.

“Marco?”

“Mmgh?” Marco questioned around a large mouthful of ice cream. Jean almost forgot what he was going to ask; Marco looked so innocent and fucking _adorable_ with his brown eyes turned toward Jean and his cheeks bulging out like a chipmunk with spots instead of stripes.

“Where are we actually going?” Jean gestured to the sidewalk ahead, noting the absence of any real civilization after the skate park.

“Oh, crap. I don’t know. Do you still want to go hang out in the park even though Connie and Sasha left?”

“Actually,” Jean grinned, “that sounds perfect. I could do without their weird antics in the dark for once.”  
They picked a block of concrete to sit on, Jean nibbling at his sugar cone, the small crunches the only sound around. Jean was at ease at first, but when he glanced at Marco he saw a spoon tapping incessantly at his kneecap.

“Something up?”

“No, um, not really…” Marco looked away, now swinging his foot back and forth. Jean followed his gaze to that stupid box.

“Okay man, I’ve been wondering all night and now keeping quiet is no longer an option. What’s in the box?”

“I told you, nothing!”  
“Is it flowers?” Jean leaned over, trying to grab at it.  
“N-No!”  
“I call bullshit. Is it for someone?” _Please say no._

“I—No!”  
“Uh-huh.” Jean raised one eyebrow. “Why won’t you tell me anything abo—HAH!”  
Jean made a sudden lunge across Marco’s lap and grabbed the box, pulling it back to peek inside. Marco stood up suddenly, knocking Jean’s ice cream to the concrete.

“Jean, please don’t. Please.”

“As if I’m not going to look now that my ice cream’s on the ground! Fat chance.”  
Ignoring Marco’s pleas, he lifted the lid and found the same creamy white orchids as before. Only now they were arranged into two boutonnieres, one with a bronze ribbon wrapped around the stem that curled out on either side of the blossom. The satin’s pattern matched the other, jet black instead of dark gold, and both ribbons were held in place by small shiny navy pins that Jean recognized from the flower shop.

He turned to Marco, not sure what to make of the blooms in the box. “Did you make these?”

Marco’s face had gone the color of an overripe tomato. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again trying to find something to say.

“And why are there two?” Jean frowned, turning back to the box. “You only need one for pictures, right?”

Marco found his voice again. “I—what—yeah. One. Only I made an extra.”

“Oh. Okay.”  
Jean refused to overthink this. Maybe Marco really had just made two. Counted the flowers wrong or something. Or the extra could just be a generic extra for anyone without a date. Marco was always looking out for everyone, after all. If he thought the other was for him, he was sorely mistaken. How would Marco even figure out the color of his tie? He had barely decided that himself. It had to be a coincidence.

Meanwhile, Marco rambled “I mean, if you wanna use the other, I guess you could? You don’t have to, though, it’s cool, it really doesn’t look that great, made it last minute and all…”

“Uh, yeah. That’d work. Pictures and stuff.”

“Right.”

Jean kicked a pinecone, and Marco scratched the back of his neck. It had gotten a lot darker since they sat down. Jean checked his phone, praying it would be close to eight o’clock or that Connie and Sasha were coming back soon.

_7:48. Thank God._

Jean cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. “Hey, it’s getting late, isn’t it? Think we should maybe head to the dance?” He sounded downright chipper, and knew Marco could tell how false his joviality was. Good thing, actually, Jean was not fucking _jovial_ and never would be.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

They walked back to Jean’s car in silence. As they drove towards school, Jean turned up the radio so Marco wouldn’t hear him swearing at himself under his breath.

The first thing Jean saw when he walked into the gym was Connie on the periphery of the bobbing crowd, doing a horrible version of the robot to some heavily remixed song. He had procured a bright red bandana and had tied it around his shaved head, ears sticking out the bottom, completing the picture of stupidity. _And Connie said we were the ones in monkey suits?_

            “Hey Jean, get a load of Sasha.” Marco nudged his arm and pointed to a table against the wall with various snacks. Sasha was actually tiptoeing towards the punch bowl, a bottle of some cheap liquor stuffed down the front of her dress. As she drew near, she sprang, pulling the bottle out, unscrewing the cap, and coming face to face with Vice Principal Levi. Jean swore he could feel the heat radiating from Sasha’s face from across the gym as Levi stared up at Sasha, saying nothing. Sasha froze, gulped, and dove under the tablecloth. Apparently this was too much for Marco, as his stifled snorts turned to peals of rich laughter.

            Jean turned and grinned. After an unspoken agreement not to talk about the boutonnieres, they had stumbled out of the car with the flowers pinned to their lapels, awkwardness left behind. The music seemed to help distract Marco; as they walked into the gym Jean could tell he was stepping in time with the beat. After checking in with Ms. Rall, who did not look thrilled to be looking after hundreds of sweaty teenagers in a dark gym, they walked closer to the crowd just in time to witness Sasha’s misfortune.

            Jean felt a tap on his shoulder. Marco was saying something, but it couldn’t be distinguished through the loud music.

“What?” Jean practically shouted.  
“I said, I see Mina over there. Gonna go say hi.” Marco yelled back.

“Oh.” Jean flashed him a dorky thumbs up. “Have fun.”  
As Marco disappeared among the writhing bodies, Jean tried to spy a familiar face or two as well. He could see Eren trying to drag that blond kid into the fray (what an asshole, that dude looks overwhelmed), Annie Leonhart standing on the periphery watching Bert Fubar and Reiner Braun grinding up on each other (ew, get a room), and Ymir and Christa leaning against the wall, the latter chatting away animatedly in a poofy pink dress. Connie was still flailing among the crowd, and Jean was pretty sure Sasha was either getting stared down or a few well-chosen words from the vice Principal. She probably wouldn’t get into that much trouble. Not like she had actually spiked the punch before she got caught. Jean figured Levi would just call her parents as nothing had really happened.

He felt sweat starting to drip down his back with the combined body heat of all the teenagers. Unbuttoning his jacket, he figured if he was going to stink later anyways, he may as well dance.

Jean bounced around a bit until a small girl asked him if he wanted to dance. He thought her name was Hannah, and she was definitely in his English class, but he wasn’t completely sure until a bigger blond guy pulled her away, calling her name. He wished the DJ would stop playing shitty remixes with the same beat, and had half a mind to storm up to the table and tell the guy in person until Sasha grabbed his arm.

“Hey! You wanna take a group picture?”

“You’re not dead,” Jean observed.  
“Nah, I’ve just got a warning. I think the VP has seen worse tonight.”

“Pretty lucky though.”

“Yeah, I guess. Are we gonna do a group shot or not?”

“Fine! Where’s Connie and Marco? I’m not taking a picture with just you. You’re gonna grab my butt at the last second or something.”

“Oooh, good idea!” Sasha grinned. “We can find the other two, then meet by the photobooth, yeah? I’ll find Connie, you grab Marco.”

She bounced back into the crowd, and Jean was left to push through and find a fairly average looking guy (at least from afar, those eyes and freckles…) in a sea of people. He briefly considered yelling “Marco”, but realized that even though this wasn’t a pool, too many smartass teenagers would yell “Polo” back. He was really starting to sweat now, and decided to search the periphery first to cool down. As he passed Christa and Ymir, he earned a nod from the taller girl and a “Wow, you look great! Your boutonniere matches your eyes so well!” from the shorter.

Though he thanked them and resumed searching, something about Christa’s comment bothered Jean. Finally, he spied Marco next to Thomas and hurried over to them.

“Hey.”  
“Hey, Jean! What’s up?”  
“Sasha wants pictures. I mean, only if you’re up for it. She sort of dragged me into it.”  
“Oh, yeah, that’s perfectly all right. With Connie too? Where are they?”  
“Meeting us at the booth thing.”  
They walked to a corner of the gym that had been partitioned off so photos could be taken. A cheesy evening backdrop was taped to the wall, and there was a fake marble bench in front that Hannah and the blond guy were sitting on. An old lady who looked like she might alternate between the nail salon and the bingo parlor was hunched behind the camera, Sasha and Connie just behind her. As Sasha waved, the camera flashed, and Hannah and the boy stood up.

“Just in time! It’s our turn!” Sasha grinned, the boys following reluctantly behind her to the bench.

“Okay, dears. You lovely lady in the front, and the young man with the colorful headgear too.” Connie frowned. “How come my friends are both giants?”  
The photographer ignored him. “You handsome young men, in the back. Turn towards each other a bit… Miss, put your hands on your pretty dress and cross your ankles. Okay, smile... You, with the boutonniere that matches your lovely eyes. Yes, you.” She pointed at Jean. “Don’t look like your trousers are too tight. Relax! Yes, now your eyes look wonderful and you can see how well they match everything. All right. Smile!”  
 _Click_.

Sasha ran forward to look at the shot, then as the song switched let out an “Oooh! This is my favorite!” and ran back to the crowd. Connie and Marco lingered at the edge of the alcove as Jean frowned.

“Uh, Jean? You all right?” Connie waved a hand in front of his face, Jean lost in thought.

 _“You, with the boutonniere that matches your lovely eyes…”_ _“Your boutonniere matches your eyes so well!..” How would Marco even figure out the color of his tie?.._

Suddenly Jean knew who the extra boutonniere was for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm a little shit for leaving you with a cliffhanger (although not really, I bet you can figure out what's going on). Thank you for reading! I'm always on tumblr at metasepiapfefferi.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I apologize for the almost six month hiatus. I had to finish high school, but I am done with my work and graduate Sunday. So without further ado, bring in the gays! I make no promises of an update schedule because I have to figure out where this is going.

_It’s for me._

Jean remained glued to the spot, thoughts tumbling with colors and eyes and _Marco oh my god does he actually… like me?_

“Dude, did you somehow get the booze from Sasha? Because you gotta tell me where it is so I can complete my mission of beginning the party.” As Connie rambled about the lost alcohol, Marco lunged into the group of dancing teens, jolting Jean from his thoughts.

“Wait, what the hell is going on, man? Is he buzzed too?”

Jean stared at the crowd wordlessly.

“Oh, don’t tell me there’s something going on with you two.”  
 _Why did Connie have to be so in tune all the time? Like hell I’m explaining this._

“Jean, man, you gotta tell me what’s going on. Why did you both freak out?”

Instead of replying, Jean lurched into the masses after Marco, wishing he was buzzed like Connie suggested.

The mass of dancers and the blaring music did nothing to calm Jean down. He needed to find Marco so he could… What, exactly?

_Okay. I like him. He likes me. Probably. Fuck. What the hell do I say if I find him? “Hey, you’re hot, we should bone?” Shit. No one says that! Oh, fuck, there he is._

Jean headed towards the tall, dark haired boy in a choir tuxedo, all semblances of a plan gone from his head.

_I’ll just talk it out with him, yeah. That should work._

Clearing his throat, Jean pushed closer.

“Hey, Marco? Man, I’m sorry for all the awkwardness. I am complete shit at this. And you know that. I’m gonna fuck up if I beat around the bush, so here goes, I guess.”  
 _Deep breath._

“I think I like you. Like, romantically. Maybe. And you might feel the same, yeah?”

Jean looked up from his toes to find the back of a tuxedo facing him, loud music still pumping. His words had obviously been drowned out.

_You know what, fuck this._

Before he could come to his senses, Jean grabbed the other boy’s shoulder, spun him around, and kissed him. Instead of smelling vanilla and spice, though, he inhaled Axe deodorant and the sour scent of sweat. Jean pulled away to find a shocked looking boy in a choir tuxedo with dark hair that was definitely not Marco.

“Oh. Shit.”

Jean let go of the other boy’s shoulder and backpedaled furiously, shouting “Ohmygod I am SO SORRY I THOUGHT YOU WERE SOMEONE ELSE OH SHIT OH GEEZ SORRY!” leaving a very confused Samuel Linke-Jackson in his wake.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath and afterparties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Please don’t drink to solve your problems. Or go out and not have a plan to get home safely. And I probably should say if you’re underage, don’t drink. Beer pong references: trolling is when you don’t make a single shot in one game and have to sit under the table for the entirety of the next one. My team plays Sacagawea rules too; if you completely miss the cups and table, the other team can catch the ball in the air, yell “Sacagawea!” and try to pelt you with it. If they hit you, you lose a cup. If they hit your face, you automatically lose.  
> Sorry about the over-a-year wait, it was a combination of writer’s block, college, and fandom inactivity. This is going to be one of the last few chapters, and it may still take a while to finish. As always, I have a tumblr (metasepiapfefferi).

_I should just move to Alaska._

Jean scurried toward the punch table, moving as fast as he could without drawing too much attention to himself.

_What was I even THINKING? If that WAS Marco, he would’ve been super weirded out, and now everyone else is too because you’re a fucking impulsive, impatient loser who can’t control himself._

He grabbed a cup and started furiously ladling punch into it.

_So I can never talk to that guy again. Or anyone who saw. Who DID se- Did MARCO see? Fuuuuuuuuck._

Jean shrank against the wall, shoulders hunched, face buried in the punch cup. _Damn, I wish those two spiked this._

He cast his eyes over the mass of people on the dance floor. Thank god he couldn’t see Samuel from this spot, which meant Samuel couldn’t see him. Unfortunately, Marco wasn’t visible, either.

_He totally saw. And now I have to drive him home. Maybe I can ditch him and be even more of an asshole. Just keep my streak going._

As he glared across the dancefloor, Jean spotted a flash of red out of the corner of his eye.

“Hey bruh, what’s eating you?” Connie bounced up to him, slightly out of breath. _Perfect timing._ “You know how I avoid my problems? Fun parties. Like the one that’s happening at Christa’s house after this. You coming? You’re coming. I need a ride. You’re driving me and Sasha. And Marco. You know where Christa lives. I’ll see you in like 15, yeah?”

Before Jean could open his mouth to object that no, that was ridiculous, the last thing he needed was more people around to drunkenly make fun of him, Connie had rejoined the fray, doing the worst moonwalk he had ever seen.

Why did Connie have to invite Marco? This would mean two awkward car rides with him. At least having Connie and Sasha in the car might take away the uncomfortable silence. The thought of alcohol was at least promising. Jean frowned. Did Marco even realize he was coming? Connie and Sasha had probably forgot to actually invite him… which mean Jean had to make sure Marco came with them in 13 minutes. _Shit._ Abandoning his post at the wall, Jean started making his way around the periphery of the crowd. About halfway around, he spied Marco and some other choir kids shouting the words to the bubblegum pop-y song blaring. Marco caught his eye, and immediately slammed his mouth shut. The two stared at each other for a moment until Marco hastily turned to his friend, yelled something in his ear, and melted into the mass of people grinding on each other.

_Aaand he most definitely saw. Well, not like this could get worse._

Jean gritted his teeth and dove into the crowd. When he reached a tall, dark haired kid in a tux in the middle, he tapped his arm to avoid his earlier mistake. This time, it was Marco that turned around, looking more than slightly uncomfortable.

“Yo, Connie and Sasha are making me drive them to Christa’s in like 10 minutes, which means you’re getting dragged along. Is that cool?” Jean projected, looking into patterns of freckles instead of nervous brown eyes.

“I-I mean, I guess, I don’t have a curfew tonight or anything. Okay. Ten minutes?”

“Yep, out by the car. See you then.” Jean nodded curtly and pushed his way back out of the crowd. He wasn’t that socially inept; he could tell when someone was trying to avoid him and had no problem reciprocating in this case. Probably totally ruined Marco’s night by kissing some random guy and making everything weird. Ugh. Any shred of affection Marco had for him was probably long gone.

Ten minutes later, Connie and Sasha were arguing over who got shotgun while Marco had climbed in the backseat already. After a very intense round of rock paper scissors (“A pistol is a completely legal move, Connie, you could’ve thrown a bulletproof vest to beat it!”) Sasha was happily picking a radio station en route to Christa’s house.

As they pulled into the gated community, the parked cars radiating out from the only lit house on the block suggested they were not the first ones here. Jean let everyone out close to the source of the pounding music, then circled around to find a spot.

\---

Eight minutes later, Jean hopped over a cardboard box, ducked under the garage door, and almost crashed into a ping pong table with 20 cups of what certainly wasn’t water.

“Dude, you almost knocked the game over! I was about to totally crush!”

“Yeah, right, Eren, you’re probably going to be trolling all night,” Jean muttered back, and was rewarded with a ping pong ball to the face.

“Oh, man, if we were playing Sacagawea, I would have just owned you!” Eren crowed, pumping a fist, overbalancing, then quickly correcting and taking a swig from a red solo cup. Jean figured he timed his entrance just right. Any less alcohol in Eren’s system and there would probably be some bloody noses. And knuckles.

 _Whatever,_ Jean thought. He had other worries tonight. Actually, Eren might be on to something with the whole inebriation thing. Spying a cooler in the corner, he dug around for a can of something that didn’t look too nasty and popped it open.

As he headed up the stairs into the house sipping his drink, Jean glanced around for the three he had taken to the party. He spied Connie and Sasha in the kitchen bickering over a roll of duct tape (oh no, not the wizard game again), but no Marco. _I’m too sober for that right now. Besides, someone needs to untangle those two._

Half an hour and two cheap beers later, Connie and Sasha were forcing a cup full of some clear liquid into Jean’s hand chanting “Shots! Shots! Shots!”. Jean, feeling slightly fuzzy, shook his head, but grinned and downed it all the same. An instant later, he regretted not going with his first instinct. _Ew, fucking Malibu? Those two are going to pay._

“Hey, Connie, how many cans you got going there?”

“Like four already, bro, and Sasha’s only had three! I am going to build the best staff there ever was! Thousands will bow before my wizardly might! My staff of cans will reach the sky, nay, the fuckin’ MOON!”

“Really? Let me see this godly weapon.”

Connie obligingly handed the empty beer cans duct taped into a tower to Jean, who promptly wound up and smashed it into Sasha’s similar stack, bending the middle cans on both staffs. Connie and Sasha gasped in sync.

“Our power! It’s ruined!”

“With my staff, I had an empire, but now… Party foul, Jean.”

“Yeah, well, giving me icky coconut shit is also a party foul.” Jean went around the kitchen island to pour himself a rum and coke. While he unscrewed the coke bottle, he surveyed the adjacent den. Plently of people slumped over couches, nodding along to the deafening bass, but not one of them was Marco. Upstairs was always off limits at Christa’s, and he didn’t want to risk the garage and Eren again. That left the living room.

Jean walked between two pillars (Seriously? They don’t even match the rest of the house. You’d think Christa’s parents would spring for a better architect, given how loaded they are) and underneath the ridiculously high ceiling. He scanned the kids slumped over the couch and matching armchairs for a familiar freckled face and spied Marco across the room, obviously a little tipsy, laughing at two of his choir friends who seemed to be trying to mash up “Uptown Funk” and the Harry Potter theme. Either the tunes went somewhat well together in the voices of two pubescent boys, or Jean was drunk enough to think they did. Whatever. He took a deep breath and started across the room, only slightly occupied with not stumbling.

 


End file.
